From The Green Closet

1993-1994

My hands grew cold touching the cold faces of dead kings and queens.

–Charles Simic

history

what comes out of me
is the cream of the crop
green sheep, tender shrimp
the fattest meal
I am red-faced, sex-free
standing in white panties
in front of the world
brown eyes burned blue
in the shock of sky
nicotine stains, battle scars,
a heart murmur, bad veins
envy, longing, heat
desire to ramble
in a broken-down car
near a field where you are
I would come from behind
the yellow ears of corn
tiny in the giant field
kneel by your shoe
black in the sun
kissed by your dog
short saint!
who has covered his tracks
who has burnt his belongings
who has stashed his damn heart
who has spoken to the trees
take me!
and when lightening strikes
we will go fist first
into its dark mouth

after most of the life

into a straight couch
I must ease myself
brown hair crazy
the black eyes of a great bird
blurting out truth
I am tired!
I am tired
you figure that the path
will end at a hut
yellow walls, the stove smoking
red tomatoes pushing from the garden
and a thin fence
skating around the property
where will we burn the papers?
where will we begin the search?
she has ended
in a seaside town
where thousands of beach birds
line up
waiting

brief return of the mother

my mother came into my room
still dead from all those years
an odor of dirt and amber
breaking from her
she pointed with slender finger
to all my big ideas
where would you be
without me?
blond strands of her hair
touched gigantic shoulders
my mother a statue!
I bowed under the shadow
of her hard gown
O mom!
pray to the gods for me
those gods you surely touch
and tell them
for me
I have wandered
I have wandered!

dream mother

you walk the plank
of this pirate ship
night after night
the pirates jet black
hair shining
they force your feet
to move past their knives
your body is tiny
an ant on this boat
that is moving
so quick in the sea
the captain smiles
in the light of the moon
his sword pointed straight
towards the bottom
and you fall
white into black
small into big
flesh into water
goodbye!

afternoon plans for a dead mother

after I feed you cake
we walk like real people
in the park
me pointing out the sights
with a trim wrist
and fancy fingers
I stab out
the whole town
moving my sharp paw
at every colorful sight
this is the living city
where you no longer sleep!
you want to visit the zoo
to see the new arrival
of baby lions
we go and stare
our grey faces haunting the cage
where the newborn cats purr
you push your arm through the bars
to feed the mother your own flesh
the animal eats you
licking her lips
your arm torn from its hole
I shake you
to wake you up
but the smile on your face
tells me it’s already way too late

dream man

he is floating over the city
black mouth open
a fever of words
hurting in his head
bless me he says
to the city
we take him
into our bed
the nurse unfolds his arms
onto the white sheets
his heart beating through his eyes
we are blessed
he says
from what we think
is sleep

I was a small girl

I was a small girl
biggest brown eyes
yellow teeth
legs that spread out like a spider
so thin you could weep
Christians ate wafers around me
and I walked through their world
dark and lonely
dogs were at my side
Christmas trees I sat under
green and golden with gifts
I had a brother whose maimed hand
stroked my hip
and then the mother and father
named for one another
dead love
dead love
we lived in many places
fruit on our lips
I sang to our neighbors
forgive us! forgive us!
and they sang back
0 you poor girl
beaten by the brute of being
your mother is calling!

little teaser

god put her in the world
to sass the angels
she sees them coming
with merry wings
and bright lips
that sing the hymns
they come from mountains
to shock us into
climbing
but from her lips
come tarnished words
you’ll fall you’ll fall
she warns them

ninth street memory

the only thing that matters
is you and your hat
sitting there near the piano
I carve an apple
red and fat
your long hands pound music
into our afternoon
the city is murmuring
words you will tell me
later in our bed

my hero

it was your hand
that turned on the light
to show me in that mess of night
a bird hopping on our fence
his blue hat pushed
down over one winking eye
our bed floated into the white
perfect morning

anecdotal poem

my neighbor is a tiny man
who howls every morning
his wife sits in their dirty kitchen
holding the baby
with just enough love
to get through breakfast
the baby cries
the man curses
the wife pleads
and I lie in bed
writing this poem
if I had a giant hand
I would pick up the howling man
by his neck
and shake out all his tools
from his overall pockets
they would clatter on their linoleum floor
axes, hammers, measuring tape
the man would weep
the wife would chatter
and the baby smile
in silly pleasure
and then with my huge mouth
I would whisper
deep into his filthy ear
deliver yourself onto them
these beasts who you wake
with your unfriendly howls
make the coffee!
put on toast!
spread sweet jam on your baby’s bread
and kiss your wife good morning!
and the man would crawl
into his house
and hold his baby
on his hot breast
and moaning beg his wife
all her forgiveness
and I would fall asleep again
hot cheek on my pillow

if you drew me

if you drew me
the line would fatten
in the middle
below the mouth
and above the groin
a white drum to beat
would curve out from the edge
of your perfect paper

myth

he made us
from intense ingredients
liquids that bubbled
in those first mad moments
a man and a woman
coming from that crazy cry
that unbearable storm
that glued us
sex to sex
he inked us out
from the stuff of private tears
and nights without notions
or wind
or hearts
or poets screaming at the world
that is how we came
from one tense time
before god was father
and still stood firm as stone
a youth who sang about his creation!
and this is the system
we have all figured out
that dust equals religion
our hearts come from the reddest flames
we like to say
and our heads pulled out with
long black tongs
from his deep green soul
his deep green soul!

time off

when God takes his vacation
he goes to the wildest cliff
hat hard on head
and on that bare stone
lets the wind throw him
long and far and flying
then the trees break
their bark into bones
and men start smiling